Jess of the Rebel Trail eBook

“It’d be no use, Martha,” the captain
replied. “Ye wouldn’t believe me
if I did.”

“No, not in the face of this,” and Mrs.
Tobin again held forth the comb.

“Well, then, Martha, what’s the use of
so much talk? I’ve had a hard day, so
am tired an’ hungry. Guess Eben is, too.”

“Tired! Hungry!” Mrs. Tobin snapped.
“You’ll be more tired and hungry before
I’m through with you, let me tell you that.
You might as well own up first as last about that
woman you had on board. Who is the miserable
hussy, and where is she now?”

A gleam of hope suddenly appeared in the captain’s
eyes, and he shot a swift glance toward his son.

“We had no miserable hussy on board, Martha,”
he replied. “That’s the Gospel truth,
so if ye don’t believe it, ye needn’t.”

“I’m afraid you’re lying, Sam’l.
If you didn’t have a woman on board, where,
then, did this comb come from?”

Eben’s face suddenly coloured, and his eyes
dropped. He remembered what he had done at the
quarry. Mrs. Tobin was now convinced that she
was being deceived, and that her husband and son were
in league against her. She wheeled upon the
captain.

“I want you to come right home with me, Sam’l.
This is a very serious matter, and I need Flo’s
advice. She’s got a level head, and will
know what had better be done. I can hardly think,
I’m so worked up.”

“But you kin talk all right, Martha, even if
ye can’t think,” the captain retorted.
“If ye’d think more ye’d talk less.
If ye don’t believe what me an’ Eben
have said, ye needn’t. Yes, I’ll
go home with ye, fer I guess Flo’ll understand,
if you don’t. Eben, you look after things
here. Ye might as well keep the sail up as thar’s
no wind. If it comes on to blow, ye can lower
it. I’ll be on hand bright an’ early
in the mornin’ so’s to catch the tide.
We kin drift, even if thar’s no wind.
Come on, Martha, let’s go.”

CHAPTER X

UNWELCOME VISITORS

After he had eaten his supper, Eben washed his few
dishes and went out on deck. He sat down upon
one of the blocks of granite and looked out over the
water. It was a beautiful evening, with not a
breath of wind astir. The river shimmered like
a great mirror, its surface only ruffled when an occasional
motor-boat hurried by, and the little steamer “Oconee,”
on her regular evening trip from the city, ploughed
past and blew for a wharf a short distance beyond.